I keep saying I don’t ask my clay pots to be perfect. That’s not (just) an excuse for producing imperfect pieces. I don’t want my work to be sterile or prissy. I want it to have a unique identity. I want it to have a personality of its own, which, I guess, is the personality of the maker.

I’ve been looking at 15th, 16th, 17th century red ware from New England. These pieces are humble and beautiful, clearly designed for use. The colors are rich and aged looking, and even the chips and wear make them more attractive. The jug forms are voluptuous. The glaze patterns are often haphazard. The drips are believable. The forms are not ornate, and the art is primitive. They don’t look fussed over. They look like they could hold a nice serving of gruel or stew, and keep it hot.

Some of these pieces now sell for hundreds of thousands of dollars.

What would the potters who made them think of that.

After hundreds of years, they will now be displayed carefully behind glass, maybe handled with white gloves.

They’ve endured, and I can see them and be inspired.